Animal
by Wolfsong27
Summary: After a Duster becomes a Grey Warden, she's finding it hard to cope. The taint does more than bind her to the Order, it also brings out the worst of her nature. She must learn to embrace what she is becoming or risk destroying all she fights for.
1. Chapter 1

**Animal**

A Dragon Age: Origins Fan fiction following my point of view as Rachna, the rogue Dwarven Commoner.

All things BioWare are © BioWare. (This includes an extremely long list of characters, places, ideas, dialogues, and a whole bunch of awesome stuff.)

Story is written by and © Kami Rose

Warning: Spoilers, obviously.

Note: Story will not always directly follow gameplay or dialogue. Have to be creative sometimes, no? Otherwise you should just play the Dwarf Commoner story line. xD

Name origin: Rachna – Sanskrit – meaning "Creation". I am unsure how it is pronounced. In my own head I say it like "Rawk-gna".

Morrigan made an exasperated noise before throwing up a hand and with a turn of her head dismissing the both of them. Yes, they had to hurry, but she'd only been conscious for a handful of hours after days of bed rest with a serious wound; frankly, it was amazing Rachna had pressed herself as far as she had. Lothering was but an hour or two away and she'd rather enter the town with some energy to spare instead of being completely spent. Obviously frustrated, the mage left them sitting there to stake out some distance away. The dwarf watched to make sure she was within sight and sound before slumping against a tree. The pounding in her head was horrible and the fragments of dreams lingered, splinters in her mind. She covered her eyes with a hand and focused on breathing for several long minutes. Things were moving way too fast and it all felt so unreal. A month ago she knew nothing of magic, the topside, Grey Wardens, or hundreds of other things she'd been introduced to as of late. Nothing could have prepared her for all of this.

Some time later she opened her eyes under raised palm, still unaccustomed to the sun, and looked towards the only other survivor of Ostagar. He stood with a single hand bracing his weight against a tree. His back was to her and she looked at the patterned fabric piece pinned to his shield. At first she'd made the mistake of likening him to Leske, but had recently come to realize he was much softer than her old comrade. She found herself at a loss here, back in Dust Town something like this was laughed about over a pint of cheap ale shared on top of a crumbling wall looking over a lava pit; just enjoying the fact they made it out of another scrape and were still alive to tell the tale. This man was deeply grieving, and Rachna didn't know how to deal with it. Yea, people died, but that was just how things worked. Still, she felt sympathy for him; after all she certainly knew what it meant to lose everything. Maybe one day she'd go back to Orzammar when things were settled. Could she even? Did being conscripted into being a Grey Warden also pardon her from 'treason'? Or did killing a mob boss do that? She blew a braid out of her face, huffing; probably not, if she returned they'd string her up. Ungrateful, sodding, stone-blind gits; all of them. Well, except Leske and Rica. Everyone else though certainly was, even mam.

The tribal sun banner she'd been staring at dipped suddenly, drawing her attention back to the present. Alistair was now sitting on his hunches, seemingly drawing in the dirt with a stick. She frowned at this, reminded of a child. Oh yes, this was going swimmingly. First save Oskias from the skinning he had to know was coming. Then kill Beraht to save Rica, Leske and herself. After that it's go kill these creatures to save those people, pick this flower for a bloody dog, wipe that boy's nose, and then save all of sodding Ferelden! What next? Rachna, change diapers please? Is this what was to become of the sharpest Duster to ever cross topside? She glared at his back, scorn over every feature.

His head bent forward then, and a piteous sniffle could be heard. Her mouth wavered slightly, remembering the last time she made that noise; her dad had walked out on his family and she'd ran to Rica to cry. Her arms crossed over her chest as she sighed. Cursing to herself silently, she kicked off from the tree she'd been leaning against and then approached him. He wasn't paying any attention though, continuing to draw seemingly pointless circles in the dead leaves and dirt. Rachna crouched next to him, resting her arms across her knees and leaning forward to look at his face. It was contorted with his pain, eyes focused somewhere far away in the past, but to his credit he wasn't crying. Thankfully she'd been unconscious for the weepy part apparently. It was awkward, being this close to him and not knowing what to say. She chewed the inside of her cheek in thought for a moment before whispering to him.

"Do… Do you want to talk about Duncan?"

"You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as long as I did."

Rachna's brow furrowed, a bit insulted. She thought back on the man she'd spoken to before the Proving, the man that had offered her a way out of her troubles and a chance at a new life; whom been her traveling companion between Orzammar and Ostagar and had taught her much of this land with nothing but patience and kindness beyond what her gruffness deserved. She shifted her position, dropping one knee to better balance her weight.

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn the loss of him, you know."

He threw his stick out into the underbrush, still not meeting her eyes. He sighed and shook his head, focusing on the figures he drew, though Rachna couldn't make any sense out of them and assumed they didn't mean anything in particular.

"I just… I should have handled it better. Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen."

He threw up his hands in a helpless gesture, sounding frustrated as well as sad.

"Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not with so much riding on us, not with the Blight… and… and everything. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize…"

She offered quietly, not really sure if it was true. He had made things a bit more difficult with his moping, but at least he wasn't bawling about it either. At least he could see that there was stuff that needed to get done, and was trying to push forward. Rachna bit her lip, feeling guilty for judging him so harshly in her head earlier. She was still rather done with his pitiful mourning, but seeing how badly he struggled with himself was something she could relate to and understand. Alistair stood then, looking out to some place unseen as she straightened herself gratefully. Her body was still quite stiff from her severe injuries and whatever magic she endured to make sure they healed.

"I'd… like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done, if we're still alive. I… don't think he had any family. To speak of anyway."

She hadn't known that, but then again she'd barely asked anything of her former traveling companion other than the straight up facts about what she was getting herself into. Rachna reached up to pat the back of Alistair's shoulder, a gesture that felt a lot more awkward than it should have.

"Hey, he had you."

"I… suppose he did. It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle I mean. I feel like I… I don't know. Like I abandoned him."

His voice had lowered and took on the tone of a confession. Rachna put her hands behind her head and stretched as she looked out over a drop in the land, taking in the features as she digested that. She thought on Leske and felt her chest tighten. What she would give to have that old scamp with her now, and she prayed that the Stone was keeping him safe and his nose clean.

"No, it doesn't sound stupid. I understand completely."

He glanced at her for a moment, but if he was curious he kept the question to himself. A moment or two passed before he breathed out heavily.

"Of course I'd be dead, then, wouldn't I? It's not like that would make him happier."

There was just a hint of his typical jovial self in the undertones, and Rachna couldn't help but smile slightly. Maybe this was all he needed before he could move on, just someone to listen for a few minutes.

"I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I'll go up to there sometime, see about putting something up in his honor. Dwarves… don't practice cremation, do they? How exactly do your people honor your dead?"

For some reason the first image that came to her mind was Beraht's bloodied body sprawled across the stone, his gut wretched apart and his eyes glassed over in death. The picture gave her a sick sense of pleasure and she fought to put that memory someplace else while she tried to focus on a decent answer.

"Uh… we entomb our dead. Within the stone beneath our thaigs."

_Or most, anyway. The ones that mean something to someone. _Fingertips brushed her brand on their own accord, a reminder that no matter where she was, she would always be considered worthless; even if no one here knew it yet.

"I…heard about that? Now that I think about it. Their spirits return to the rock, strengthening the foundation of the thaig? It sounds so… so strange."

"No stranger than burning your honored dead for their ashes!"

She snorted in laughter, seriously, who _did that?_ He turned to look at her, really, for the first time since they started this talk. There was just a shadow of a smile, and the light was still weak in his eyes, but he was definitely more himself. Rachna mentally patted herself on the back, apparently she wasn't as bad at this as she thought.

"I suppose you're right. Hey… Thank you. Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little."

She smiled at him, still rather proud of herself for handling this so well, and hoping this would mean he'd stop dragging his heels everywhere.

"Anytime, Alistair."

Turning to look back over the trees and towards the direction of this town they were supposed to be going to, she felt a little better. She repeated herself, feeling a bit more optimistic about this whole crazy mission.

"Anytime."

She swiveled on her feet, intending to gather Morrigan and set out again, when she could swear there was the distant sound of … barking. The moment she tried to pinpoint it though, it stopped. Odd. She stood there for another moment, waiting to see if it would come again, but nothing. Shrugging, she turned to Alistair to see if he'd heard it, but there was no indication of it on his face. Maybe it was a common thing in Ferelden and no one took notice. In any case, they had to get going. She pushed bramble aside as she approached Morrigan, who was obviously displeased and had her arms crossed as she paced.

"Finished your little chat then, I take it?"

Had she heard them? Not that it mattered much; she just wouldn't mention it to Alistair since he'd probably have a fit about it. Rachna nodded, seizing up the witch yet again. There was just something off about her; it was both compelling and unsettling. It was shocking to realize that she already trusted the other Grey Warden, he had proven himself loyal though, but this mage had not. Still, there was very little choice in the matter and in truth if the woman decided to turn Rachna felt rather confident that her dagger would meet its mark before the mage could finish them off. Morrigan, as if she could read the thought, sneered and brushed past the dwarf, grabbing her gnarled staff on her way out.

"Let us be off then. We have much to do if we're going to defeat the Blight."

Very true. Alistair was already waiting for them on the main road when they got there, looking more responsive thankfully. They set off again, and within a handful of minutes the two of them were trading barbs. Rachna groaned and pushed forward, hoping that if she'd pick up the pace they'd shut up, or that she'd at least get out of earshot. No such luck though, they simply sped up _and_ kept talking. Wonderful. Wait, was that the barking again? She held up her hand to silence them, trying to listen for it. They either ignored her or were oblivious because they just kept blathering on.

"Or we could not talk about your mother. That works for-"

"Shut up, the both of you! _Listen_."

She cut off Alistair, drawing one of her long daggers quietly as they rounded a bend in the road. There was a huff and she was sure Morrigan was just about to say something when there was a glimpse of movement. It bounded into view, and Rachna sighed as she re-sheathed her blade, recognizing the sick mutt she'd muzzled earlier. Apparently that flower had worked after all. Who knew?

"Uh. Don't look know, but, well. Look now!"

Her head snapped up at Alistair's warning, seeing that the dog wasn't alone. Sodding mongrel had brought a darkspawn party. She drew both blades as the leader of the little band made a threatening gesture, to which Rachna simply sneered before leaping towards them, barking out at her party.

"C'mon guys, quit staring and do **something**!"

That woke them up, and suddenly the genlock before he froze over, complete with icicles dripping from his nose.

"Nice one, Morrigan!"

She called out over the din, not seeing the mage take a small bow. Then Alistair was roaring and pressing through with his shield, even the blasted dog was getting into it. Her daggers flashed as they found purchase time and time again, ignoring her own body complaining about old aches and wounds as she ripped up anything that was close enough to reach. And just as suddenly as it began, the skirmish was over, and she stood panting slightly over the bloodied bodies at her feet. Ugh, there wasn't even a clean patch of leather on her arm to wipe her splattered face with. Disgusting. The dog took care of it for her though, as he wagged his stump happily and slobbered all over her face. She sputtered and pushed him away. Ugh, so be covered in blood or in dog spit? Rachna was pretty sure she preferred being perpetually dirty in Dust Town to this. Still, the Mabari sat in front of her, his whole body shaking from the force of his happy stump-wagging. Despite herself she grinned at the animal, which easily came up to her shoulder when standing. She patted him playfully, glad he was alright.

"Those darkspawn didn't hurt you, boy, did they?"

She baited him playfully, laughing when he growled and then barked. Alistair approached curiously, also looking to be in need of a bath. He didn't even bother with the blood though, used to it, she supposed. He crouched next to the hound, careful not to get too close just to be on the safe side.

"I'm pretty sure he was out here looking for you. He's… chosen you, I think. Mabari are like that, they call it imprinting."

Morrigan made a sound of disgust and Rachna looked up to see the mage was still as immaculate as ever and was picking her way around the pools of blood to pointedly gesture to the war hound.

"Does this mean we're going to have this mangy beast following us around now? _Wonderful_."

"He's not mangy!"

The boy almost sounded hurt on behalf of the dog, giving Morrigan a defiant look. What was she, a baby sitter now? It was like siblings quarreling over a stray. She rubbed her forehead in frustration, smearing the blood on her hand all over her skin as she did so. The dog whined and she looked up into his puckered face.

"Oh, alright. He can come, but he better make himself useful."

She said pointedly, giving the war hound that had just crunched a darkspawn's face into unrecognizable mush a serious look. His tongue lolled out for a second before he barked happily, getting up and doing small circles. Morrigan threw her hands up in despair.

"And yet we still have Alistair along…"

There was an unmistakable sound, and Rachna turned to see the dog peeing on the corpse of the Hurlock alpha that had threatened them earlier. She snorted, trying to suppress a laugh, hiding her grin behind a hand. Alistair's face lightened up though, and he stood up again as he turned to Morrigan.

"I could do that too, you know."

The mage waved him off, sounding rather dismissive.

"I doubt you have the equipment necessary, Alistair."

"He_eey!"_


	2. Chapter 2

His short fur felt like nothing she'd ever touched before. The best she could relate it to was the horse that had pulled the small cart from Orzammar to Ostagar, but the dog's had a more silky texture to it. She marveled at it absentmindedly as she stroked his nose and watched the flames dance.

"We never did figure out a name for you, did we boy."

She whispered to the mabari, who whined in response. He dropped his head to his paws with a snuff, his weight still pressed against her leg comfortingly.

"I'll think of one, I just want it to be a good fit. Honest."

His stump wagged lazily a few times before he sighed, and she patted his shoulder. Turning her head, she could see that Morrigan had finally settled in for sleep, after doing who knew what with that small fire. She was quite some distance away, either because the new additions to the party were threatening or she just enjoyed the solitude, Rachna wasn't sure. The two dwarves from earlier had also settled near their small camp, and after talking with them she'd agreed to let them stay. It was comforting in a way, to have more of her people around. And as luck would have it, they had an extra tent that she had traded for so that Sten could have his own. She couldn't imagine Alistair and the giant Que… quen… oh what was it? Whatever he was. She couldn't imagine them sharing a tent, in any case. Rachna had offered the stone-crazy religious girl her tent for the night, she preferred the company of the fire anyway. The smell and colors reminded her of the lava pits of home, and it helped with the small ache. Plus, no one ever told her the surface was always cold, especially when the sun went down. Parts of Ferelden truly were miserable, and for not the first time she wondered what the hell she was doing here.

What if she just left? Just snuck away in the middle of the night? Her fingers searched out the fastener of her neck band, undoing it with practiced ease. She held it in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the worn leather and ridges of metal, thinking. There wasn't anywhere she could go. No home to return to, no safe direction to face. She had left the Carta to join the Wardens, and it all felt similar; a bloodied promise to do bad things for the good of someone else. True, the Carta only benefited Beraht in the long run, but it had also put bread on the table, but with the news that the Wardens were now on Loghain's short list it seemed even more unlikely that this would do anything more than get her killed. Why did she think putting on Everd's armor had been a good idea? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Pretend to be Everd, win the Proving, slip away and never get caught. Beraht would get his money, Everd would keep living, and Leske… would see her as a hero. She bowed her head forward, sighing as she gripped the collar in both hands. That Duster was always so fascinated with Rica, and who could blame him? Beraht had picked her up out of the dirt and turned her into every noble's dream. Dressed her in silks, taught her to read and write, to sing and play a string harp, how to seduce. He had invested quite a lot of gold into her, all so she could lure the men of the diamond district into a bed in hopes of baring a son. It had been a horrible trade, but Rica was also the strength in silence type. She'd gone through it all without a complaint, always a smile, proud that she could give her family a chance at something better. All Rachna had to offer was her anger. Becoming a thug was her only real option, and so she became a good one. She learned how to be quick with a dagger, and clever with her tongue; when to talk, and when to fight; how to show no fear, even when it was overwhelming her. But these skills offered little to a man, so she never said anything. In private Rica had taught her how to read a little, and even tried to teach her to write. Beraht was furious that she would waste time and efforts teaching a heavy any of those things, but Rica always made it a habit to defy him in the small ways. Rachna was never that subtle.

By the stone, she missed them. What were they doing now? Without Beraht, was life better for either of them? Or had it made things harder? Where would Rica get her make-up and silks now? And who would give Leske coin for jobs only a blade could do? What other choice had there been though; let Beraht kill them all? Who knew winning the Proving could cause so much pain? Maybe she really was cursed by the Stone, turned away from the Ancestors. Suddenly the war hound raised his head, the movement causing her to look up, curious as to what bothered him.

"Hey, are you alright?"

His voice was soft and unsure and by the firelight she could see there was obvious concern in his face. Ugh, the last thing she needed was pity. She straightened, propping her arms on her knees, still clutching her neckband.

"Yea, I'm fine."

She cleared her throat after speaking; her voice had sounded a little rough from not being used for the past several hours. By his expression it was obvious he thought otherwise. Well, wasn't this awkward.

"Huh… You sure? And, what are you doing?"

He pointed towards her hands, which were fiddling with the leather strap. She sighed in her annoyance, curling up the object and palming it.

"Mourning."

Her voice held no emotion, just a flat fact. Surely he would let it go, surely? And what was he doing up anyway? Her expression was hard as she watched him cross his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet as he did so.

"So, you're ok."

"Yes."

"And, you're mourning?"

"Yea."

He raised an eyebrow incredulously, shifting his weight again. Something told her he wasn't going to go away.

"Do… you want to talk about it?"

Somehow, this sounded very familiar, and she groaned slightly. Didn't humans understand the concept of privacy and boundaries? He sat quickly, his face suddenly somehow even more serious.

"I… look. I'm sorry, about earlier. I didn't, I didn't mean to say that you didn't care about Duncan too. I just… I didn't want you worrying about me."

Irony? Hello. And he thought she was grieving over Duncan? Rachna turned away, focusing on the campfire once more. She felt a little guilty to admit she hadn't thought much on those that had died in Ostagar; she was mostly still grieving over the loss of her old life. There wasn't room to hurt over more right now. Still, saying that aloud didn't seem… appropriate. She could hear him shuffling, apparently her silence was making him nervous. What was she supposed to say?

"He was a good man."

She finally managed, feeling the sentiment fell short. She really didn't want to get into this with him though, couldn't he just go back to bed? Was it such a horrible thing that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts for awhile? Alistair's expression became very solemn before being twisted with pain.

"Yes… he was. A man that didn't deserve his fate."

This sentiment puzzled her, and Rachna turned it over in her head. Did that mean everyone else that died did? The mage that had helped them reach the top of Ishal tower deserved to be crushed by an Ogre? The silent sister she killed in the Proving, what was the name, Lenka? She deserved death? What about all of the people she'd axed for Beraht? Or the villagers they'd left behind in Lothering? Rachna had to disagree, death wasn't something that one deserved, it just… happened; sometimes with honor, and sometimes without. Dying valiantly in battle seemed rather honorable as far as she was concerned.

"He always… I… I'm sorry, here I am, doing this again. I'm sure you don't need this right now."

What a sodding mess this boy was. Most of the time it was rather frustrating, but right then she couldn't find it in her heart to be angry with him. They both had lost something precious, and he just was taking it harder. Or louder. She could see why he loved Duncan so; he'd been kind even under the sternness. Rachna thought on her time traveling with the older man, how she had grieved in silence. The surface was so different, so harsh in comparison to her old home that it had taken several days to break through the sorrow to realize she was free. Or at least, as free as anyone could be that still had responsibilities. A smile crept up on her, remembering the night before they reached Ostagar and she'd made a fool of herself.

"I didn't talk. To Duncan, I mean. While we were traveling from Orzammar to Ostagar, I barely said anything at all, until the day before we reached camp."

She surprised herself, talking about it with him. But he had lifted his head from his hands to look at her, something akin to hope in his eyes. It felt good to be sharing this with him, for whatever reason, so she continued.

"You have to understand, to a Casteless like me, being in Orzammar was still preferable to being free topside. The surface is where those that just don't belong go. The ones with no chance for a future at all, who don't mind losing their Stone-sense; where the weak escape to. The only others that venture topside are warriors who are sent, or merchants that don't plan on really returning to Orzammar. When you leave, you leave everything behind, so even if you come back you don't have you caste anymore."

This was the most she'd spoken since leaving Orzammar. Somehow explaining it to someone that knew nothing, and judging by Alistair's face, barely understood; was therapeutic. It helped her put it all in focus, neatly organizing the events. He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and shrugging before looking at her questioningly.

"I thought you said you were exiled from Orzammar? Back in Lothering, when I mentioned the treaties-"

"I was."

She nodded her head, confirming.

"I… do you know what this means?"

Rachna raised her empty hand to indicate the brand upon her face, pointing to her left cheekbone. He shook his head.

"It means I'm casteless; someone without the blessing of the Stone. We branded have no House, our ancestors are supposedly criminals or useless, so we have no favor. We're not allowed to have a job, or do anything, really."

She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Just because her father left…

"They spit on you. You're expected to just give up and die, since anything else is too good for you. I certainly wasn't going to do _that_. So what else could I do? Become a whore?"

The boy had enough sense to know he shouldn't speak and simply stared at her. Rachna could feel her anger flaring, but she was beyond caring now.

"I became a thug, ok? A petty thug for some cave tick who ran the crime in Orzammar. But you know what? The money put bread and mush on the table. It wasn't enough to keep Rica from walking the streets, but it was the best I could sodding do! So Beraht sends me and my buddy Leske to rig a Proving for him so he wins big. The bloody idiot he'd put a hundred gold on was so stone-drunk he couldn't even get off the floor. If Beraht didn't see his bet turn out, he'd kill Rica. Probably Leske and I too. That Duster talks me into pretending to be Everd and win the Proving. And you know what?"

She stopped to catch her breath, realizing her voice had escalated. Taking a moment to calm herself, she turned to see Alistair shake his head. Rachna grinned back at him.

"I _won_. I sodding won the Proving. Me. A casteless, worthless, nothing bested the Stone-favored champions. And when they found out what I was, they turned on me. Leske and I escaped, and I bloody killed Beraht so he wouldn't hurt Rica or Leske, and for that I was exiled. If Duncan hadn't conscripted me I probably would've been killed for treason or at least sent to the surface anyway."

The anger had sapped away, leaving behind an odd numbness. It was weird, to share this much, but she had no regrets or shame. If anything, she only wished that she could see Rica and Leske, even mam. Just to make sure they were alright. And maybe the chance to kill Beraht all over again, this time slower. Alistair stretched his back, looking past the fire at something else. Or somewhere else. Suddenly Rachna felt uncomfortable, as if she had exposed too much, but then he turned and smiled at her.

"So Duncan saved you too, huh?"

She laughed softly at that, amused.

"More like he had a bad habit of picking up strays."

He grinned, a real smile that reached his eyes.

"Something you two have in common then."

He waved a hand to encompass their camp, pointedly those in it. It was true; their little group was certainly a strange one. She grinned and shook her head.

"This is more like a setup for a bad joke than the heroes of Ferelden."

"Don't I know it."

He responded, sounding like his old self for the first time since she woke up in Flemeth's hut. They settled into a comfortable silence as they watched the fire, Rachna's hands worrying the leather strap once more. The dog stretched out a leg and yawned before resuming his sleep. The warmth was starting to work on her, and she was feeling drowsy.

"Can I ask you something?"

The sound of his voice grabbed her attention; she looked up to see he was focused on her hands again.

"Maybe? Ask first and I'll let you know."

"Fair enough," he nodded, "What is that you're holding? And… what's with your hair?"

"That's two somethings."

He bobbed his head from side to side, shrugging slightly.

"Yes, it is. Willing to tell me either?"

"Why so interested in me all of a sudden?"

"Just curious… Hey, you can always ask me stuff. I promise I'll answer."

Sighing, she held up her hands with the neck band strung between them.

"I'll hold you to that, but anyway, this was a gift from a dear friend."

She wrapped it around her neck once more, redoing the buckle.

"And your hair?"

"What about it?"

To her amusement he fumbled for the right words.

"Well…er, what's with the braids?"

She fingered one of the braids that framed her face, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. Odd how her hair color looked so different here on the surface than in Orzammar. In the firelight it looked more like how she remembered it, the flickering flames picking out certain strands in the dark locks that turned gold or copper as she shifted the braid.

"Branded women don't really care about their hair; they're more concerned with getting enough coin together to feed themselves or their families. It was a small act of defiance. Rica did them for me, taught me how to grow my hair out for them and how to do the braids."

She shrugged, letting go of the twist she held. It was odd for him to take interest in something like that, especially since the women of Ferelden she'd met had similar.

"Huh. Well. I was more wondering about… loop, in back. It looks-"

"Like a handle?"

His face reddened, and she wondered why on earth that was something worth blushing over.

"I suppose. It reminds me of the reigns to a horse."

This she had to concede to, thinking of the leather straps that had restrained the horse's head.

"There are no horses in Orzammar. But yes, it looks like that on purpose."

If anything this made his face contort further and suddenly something Rica had said about men liking to do certain things with a woman's hair while in bed came to mind.

"No! _No_. Not like that. For scrappers there's kind of a code about your hair. If someone were to grab it they could yank your head around and it's a weakness to have long hair. So, if a thug is particularly good, or at least thinks they are, they'll wear their hair long. Kind of like a taunt, daring you to try and grab it."

Enlightenment dawned on his face, his eyebrows arching at the new knowledge.

"Ah. So, if I were to try and grab your braid?"

"You'd lose your hand."

"Right. I'll remember not to try that then."

Rachna nodded her approval, glad he was a fast learner at least. Silence again, excluding the crackling of the fire eating branches. Her mind felt fuzzy and she was becoming groggy, she rubbed her face, trying to wake herself up. It was no use, she was losing the battle and her body was complaining even despite the potions and poultices. Alistair coughed politely, causing her to jerk harshly.

"You know, I'm wide awake. I don't mind taking watch for a bit if you're feeling tired."

She rose an eyebrow and glanced at him before looking down at the hound sleeping against her feet.

"That obvious huh?"

"Yes. I mean, well, understandably. Look, it's hard for me to relax enough to sleep with-" he gestured with him thumb over his shoulder towards Sten's tent, "over there. At least one of us should get some sleep."

Logic, in the last place she would've looked. Shrugging, she got up and stretched, collecting her bedroll and bringing it back towards the fire.

"Sure?"

"Am I sure? Absolutely."

The dog whined, finally roused by the lack of leg to lean against. He got up slowly and dragged his paws over to Alistair before promptly collapsing with a humph. Rachna ignored him and unbundled the roll, setting as close to the fire as she dared. It seemed indecent to take off any of her clothes, so she settled for sleeping in the cotton breeches and tunic she wore, snuggling into the roll before turning to see the other Warden; his hand was scratching the dog's head slowly.

"Thanks."

She murmured, eyes already demanding to be shut. If he replied she never heard him, sleep claiming her within moments.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bodies pressed in all around her. Fetid creatures covered in ragged leather and rusted metal. They were all clamoring together, a mass of nasty flesh and raised weapons, roaring and shifting with battle lust. Where was she? Her mind felt sticky, thoughts stuck together and weren't clear. She couldn't focus, couldn't… control. No control. _

_Crush them, eat them. _

_ The horde clawed over each other, enthralled by something that was felt rather than seen. Power. It was poured through her, like a rush of hot water dumped over her head. Her hands? Yes. Her dark hands reached out to push others away, wanting to be closer. A beating sound, she roared in response. A great cry went up, and then it was upon her, above her. A bridge. There. She struggled to reach up an impossible height to touch her god, his tattered leathery wings batting winds down over them all. Hunger. It was eating her alive. _

_Break them, slay them._

_ His head rose, emptying a bellow and she lost her mind; could feel nothing, sense nothing, everything was gone except hunger. She needed energy. Power. The hunger… _

---

The feeling of warmth and wet against her hand over and over finally stirred her. Slowly her mind returned, aching horribly, and she sat up slowly in her bedroll to see the dog watching her worriedly.

"Bad dreams, huh?"

Her hand rose to rub her forehead as she groaned. The sound of Alistair's voice was too loud, making the throbbing in her skull worsen. Hissing with the pain, Rachna sat and cradled her head for awhile, not speaking until the ache ebbed somewhat.

"Unh, dream? It seemed so real…"

Squinting, the light of the fire still too bright, she watched him pluck a blade of grass and examine it for a moment.

"Well, it is real. Sort of."

He tossed the blade of grass away and looked at her seriously.

"You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was, hearing them."

Her face must have betrayed the horror she felt, because his brows drew together in concern. Alistair ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was trying to find the right words.

"The archdemon it… "talks" to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

This was too much. So, on top of everything else, she was going to dream of demons and hear voices? Seriously? Her skin shuddered involuntarily as she thought of the gyrating mass of bodies that had pressed against her, the… creature. The thing that had turned her blood to fire and…

"That dragon is the archdemon?"

"I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the archdemon."

Shaking her head to herself, she pushed the cloth away, freeing her legs. This was so unreal. Maybe she got knocked around harder than she thought. She could hear Alistair move then, though she didn't look up. He sighed and continued to try and explain.

"It takes a bit… but eventually you can learn to block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

Her stomach heaved suddenly, and she thought for sure she was going to be sick. Did that mean Alistair didn't 'hear' what she did? Those feelings, the _hunger_. Fingers clenched into fists, and then released, over and over. It was almost like she was trying to get a grasp on her sanity. Suddenly she was sitting in shadow, her head inclined slowly and she was looking way up to see Alistair staring down at her, confusion and concern clouding his features.

"…Anyhow… when I heard you… thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me too."

"Any other surprises I should know about by chance?"

Was that her voice? It sounded so torn up and scratchy. Had she been screaming in her sleep?

"Other than dying young and the whole defeat-the-Blight-alone thing? No, I'm all tapped out for surprises."

"Thank the Stone."

Her arm was nudged and she looked to see the dog nosing her, ears flat and body slouched. He whined piteously, only stopping once she deigned to pet him.

"He's been with you since you started crying out for him in your sleep. Hey, you never told me you picked a name for him either. Was this last night or something? Crush, huh? Interesting. It suits him, I suppose."

What?

"I cried out in my sleep?"

Rachna was mortified. Rica had told her she snored once, but nothing about sleep talking. Was it taint-induced? What the hell was happening to her? Alistair crouched next to the hound and scratched his back, obviously avoiding looking into her face for one reason or another.

"Mostly nonsense; mumblings. You kept repeating 'crush' over and over again. Must have been pretty bad, if you were calling out for the dog."

She needed to be alone; this was just too overwhelming. Thoughts were swirling around too fast for her to make sense of them, she felt nauseous and shaken. Not only had she heard the archdemon, she felt him. She _still_ felt him. Maybe she was overly tainted? Was such a thing possible? Sucking air hard, she tried to calm down, to soothe her frayed nerves. This was completely unlike her, to be panicking. It had just been a bad dream, right? Like when you drank too much ale and food that didn't agree with you. It was just a bad dream that had a little bit of help is all. What would Leske say if he saw her like this? Probably something like, 'What's wrong with you, Duster? Shake it off; it's just a sodding dream.' That sounded about right.

"-you alright?"

She hadn't noticed that he was talking to her at first. Glancing up, she raised a hand to wave it off, trying to dismiss his concern.

"Fine. Just need a moment."

Groaning, she got to her feet and stretched, already feeling better the more she moved her body. The further she felt from that body she'd 'borrowed' in the dream, the less nauseous she felt. A bit more settled, she could see that Sten was already up, though dawn still hadn't officially broken. How long had she slept? The fire was dying, which suggested a handful of hours at least. She breathed deeply, exhaling slowly after holding her breath as long as she could. There, she was ready.

"Well, you're up now right? Let's pull up camp and get a move on."

She faced Alistair and nodded, eager to be on their way.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I dislike this chapter, it's too long, covers too much, and feels... incomplete and unpolished. I completely admit it. But I need to shove this out there to get the rest of the story going. Once the whole thing is written I'll go back and clean it all up, but for now this very rough will just have to do. :/

* * *

The road from Lothering to Redcliffe was well-worn, making travel easy if a bit dusty. The scenery always seemed to be a shade of green, just in varying heights; forest, fields, meadow. It was actually rather pretty, Rachna thought, and then wondered how long it had before the darkspawn horde made their way here and covered this part of Ferelden. It was a bit like watching the great thaigs fall, bit by bit, until only the two cities stood. Well, one, if you didn't count Kal-Sharok. It was a love-hate relationship with her people. Namely, they hated her and she was at least proud, if not loved, them. Hers were a strong people; even those tossed aside by the society were bold and brave. She grinned to herself, looking behind her to see her four companions, five with the dog. Was this not proof? She'd only been a Warden for some odd minutes before being thrown into battle, and now she was leading a force to gather an army.

Morrigan had asked Alistair about this back in Lothering, why he was allowing her to lead, even if he had seniority. In truth Rachna didn't mind, despite being overwhelmed. Following orders never came easily for her, where leading felt natural. It was always that way, even with Leske, and Leske was no push over.

For the millionth time she wished he were here with her. He might not have felt the same about her, but having his confidence and strength at her back would've been a very welcome feeling at the moment. A wave of homesickness rose up in her belly, crashing through her chest. Who knew you could miss being a nothing so much? It was stable, familiar, and with every thing she did she knew exactly what she was doing it for. Yea, the Blight was a noble enough reason to fight, but it felt far from her. Maybe she was being selfish, but she just had no great love for the topside and wasn't quite ready and willing to die for it. Rachna was reminded of it every time Alistair talked about the Grey Wardens, or honor, or any of his odd values as a warrior of Ferelden. Maybe that's how the warrior caste felt about Orzammar? Not that she'd ever get the chance to ask, but it was interesting to ponder nonetheless.

Pulling her attention away from the past, she tried to figure out the present. They were off to Redcliffe, to meet this Arl, whatever that was, and he was apparently sick? Behind her she could hear Alistair and Morrigan getting into it again, and the gruff sound that could only possibly be Sten groaning in disapproval.

"Alistair."

She called out, not bothering to turn around or slow her pace. She could always pump him for information _and_ break up him and the mage.

"Yes? What do you need?"

He jogged up to her curiously, then instantly changed to a slow step he was obviously having trouble with. Damn humans and their long legs.

"I'd like to ask you something, if you're not busy?"

His head twisted so he could look over his shoulder at the witch who had probably been insulting him. He looked back at her, his expression grateful.

"Definitely not, ask away."

"So, you said this Arl Eamon raised you?"

He feigned shock, putting a hand to his chest.

"Did I say that? I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact."

Despite herself, she chortled and shook her head. At first his lack of sincerity had been frustrating, but as the situation grew more serious and dire, his silly banter became more and more of a welcome break from the tension. It wasn't quite the same as Leske's dry humor, but it was welcome all the same.

"Really? I can just see it now. Crazy baby Alistair, running around and biting their tails. That must have been tough for them."

His smile was absolutely huge; apparently glad to have someone play along with his nonsense. He waved his arms, as if to imitate flying, as he explained further.

"Well, they were flying dogs, you see. Surprisingly strict parents too. Keep your elbows off the carcass, chew with your mouth closed, and say prayers before bed. Oh! And they were devout Andrastians, to boot."

There was a snort and Rachna glanced behind to see Leliana cover her mouth gracefully. If anyone else had been listening in they showed no signs of it. Alistair didn't seem to mind the audience though, so she continued.

"So, these flying, religious dogs sold you to the Chantry I take it?"

He wagged a finger at her like some old lady.

"Oh, there you go, listening to me again. You'd think you'd have gotten past that already."

He playfully scowled at her, as if he were reprimanding an errant child.

"I ended up in the Chantry, sure, but I didn't start there. Let's see… how do I explain this. I'm a bastard! And before you make any smart comments," he quirked an eyebrow at her and she shut her mouth quickly, "I mean the fatherless kind."

His tone stayed light and friendly, though it had lost its joking edge. She recognized it instantly, it was the same voice she used when talking about her father. If you kept it light you could keep it away from you, you didn't have to confront it or deal with it. Just facts, nothing more.

"My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head."

Uh oh. They were starting to cross that line between logic and emotion. She pulled a small knife from a sheath attached to her belt, pretending to examine it's sharpness. She always felt awkward when people talked about sensitive issues, always preferring everything to be surface and distant. Humans were weird like that; she'd never met a dwarf that just exposed their soft underbelly to anyone willing to listen for an hour or so. Or maybe Dusters were just jaded to the sob stories, since everyone had one.

"He was good to me, and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."

This was becoming a touchy subject if his voice was any indication. She gritted her teeth in frustration. How was she supposed to learn about this Arl if she couldn't even ask anything about him without Alistair going all mush? This kid was just one big, walking wound. Though, she was quickly realizing that it took a certain kind of person to sign up to join the Grey Wardens. Yes, being battle worthy was a requirement, but apparently so was a disregard for where one came from and a good dash of crazy just to round it out. The silence stretched on too long, and she could feel social tension. This was where she was supposed to say something, wasn't it? Damnit.

"Uh… so. He sent you off to the Chantry. Why?"

Alistair dove into the politics of it, mercifully sticking to just the bare bones of the past rather than going overly into it or expressing his feelings again. His openness with her was starting to feel awkward more than anything, and she wondered if it was because she was a fellow Warden and thus obligated to care, or if he just bled emotion everywhere and all the time. At this rate she'd have to hug the hardest stone she could find if he held it together long enough for them to finish this Blight thing. Suddenly he was quiet again, lost in thought it looked like.

"I… remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so _furious _at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do…"

She glanced up at him, not sure if he would expect her to say something or not. To her relief he barely met her eyes before continuing.

"The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything… and eventually he just stopped coming."

So he had been childish and thrown tantrums. Rachna was pretty sure her fits had been a bit more violent. She'd have to remember to confirm with Rica, since she couldn't really remember any specific outburst. She shook her head to clear the thoughts, not wanting to think on Orzammar. How had they gotten on this topic anyway? This still wasn't answering her question.

"And you think the arl will help us?"

It sounded harsher than she'd intended, but it was already out there and it was too late to soften it a bit; though if she had to censor herself every time they exchanged words she'd probably go back to being mute for the duration of the trip. Alistair sighed and bobbed his head slowly.

"I think so, yes. This news we've heard about him being sick disturbs me though. I wonder if we won't discover that Loghain has come to the same conclusion as we have."

"So you think Loghain might have something to do with this arl falling ill?"

Alistair only shrugged, but it did make sense. First you took out your enemies, and then you took out the friends of your enemies. She put the knife back carefully, reaching into her pocket until her fingertips felt the smooth metal she was searching for. She grabbed the small statue and pulled it out, examining it. The thing was gold in color, and looked like a delicate woman in pretty dress robes. Maybe it was of Andraste? She had no idea; this topside religion was still very bizarre to her. She traced the outline for a moment before she offered it to Alistair. It took him a moment to realize her hand was outstretched with something in it. He gingerly plucked it from her palm and turned it over curiously. He gave Rachna a quizzical look and she shrugged a shoulder slightly.

"It's the same color as that coin thing you carry around. I thought maybe it was this Andraste that you've mentioned. Found it in Lothering, thought you might want it. If you don't you could always sell it and use the money for something."

"No, no. I like it, thank you. It's not Andraste, but I like things like this. And you saw that token, did you?"

His face looked sheepish, and she nodded, amused. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and showed it to her.

"It's a worry token. When I'm lost in thought sometimes I like to fidget with it… helps me think I suppose. I guess it's weird for an almost-Templar to like runic things, but I don't know. I just… find them interesting."

"Well, if I come across anything else like that I'll toss them your way."

He smiled and she was glad she remembered the thing.

"Heh, I could get used to this."

He popped it into the air and caught the figure swiftly before pocketing the trinket. She shook her head at him, feeling her braids bounce with the movement. At least he was simple to please. Still, that hadn't been very informative about this arl Eamon. She watched passively as Alistair took lead, apparently unable to keep the cramped pace any longer, and she was left to her thoughts. This turned out to be an unpleasant way to spend the time however, and she ended up listening in on the others talking. Morrigan had tried to pry conversation with Sten, who shot her down marvelously with a short rebuff before her and Leliana started chatting. That ended quickly as well, however. Some part of Rachna felt rather badly for the wild mage, who obviously lacked the social skills needed to deal with people.

Then her curiosity was peeked when Sten questioned Leliana about the Chantry. Since coming to the surface, every few seconds someone would mention the Maker or some other religious bit. Dwarves didn't have any of this nonsense, for them it was straightforward. They came from the Stone, as everything did, and when they died they returned to it and strengthened it; if they were strong characters anyway. The horrible and faint of heart weakened the stone. And those that lived extraordinary lives became Paragons, the few that rose above all to become living legends; or dead legends, depending, but still. When she saw an opportunity to jump into the discussion, Rachna fell back to walk close to Leliana.

"So, you had mentioned the Maker before. This vision of yours…"

Leliana looked almost embarrassed and turned a hesitant gaze at Morrigan, who made no intention of hiding her curiosity in whatever answer the dagger wielding Sister gave. Sten seemed neither interested nor despondent, which was rather typical as she was quickly finding out. Finally her fellow rogue sighed and focused incredibly blue eyes on her.

"I knew this would come up sooner or later."

She paused, almost hoping Rachna would give her an out, but her pleading face held no sway and she sighed again before continuing.

"I don't know how to explain, but I had a dream…"

When the statement wasn't met with snickers she bolstered her courage and spoke in a slight rush; though once she got into it her nerves eased. The girl obviously had a passion for storytelling. Rachna listened, amused when the red head started using her hands to illustrate her points, reminding her of Alistair when he got going into one of his jokes. Finally there was silence again, and Leliana looked at her with a bit of worry again, waiting judgment.

"Wait, so are you telling me you dreamed of the Blight?"

It didn't seem to be the answer she'd been expecting, but Leliana shrugged and seemed somewhat relieved.

"I suppose I did. That was what the darkness was, no? When I woke, I went to the chantry's gardens. Something I always do, but that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered…"

Rachna quirked an eyebrow as Leliana persisted, wondering where this was going. She also wondered what the hell a rosebush was, but didn't want to interrupt to ask.

"Everyone knew that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled," the girl's face scrunched up in disgust as she illustrated with her hands something spidery and nasty, "the ugliest thing you ever saw! But there it was. A single, beautiful rose. It was as if the Maker himself stretched out His hand to say: "Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith."

None of this really made any sense to the dwarf, though Leliana was trying her damnedest to get her point across. The emotion and stress she was putting behind this was evident, and Rachna could read that at least. Morrigan snorted after a moment, everything in her posture noting that she thought this was rubbish. Rachna held up a hand to the mage, trying to signal to her that there was a point to this; even if it meant nothing to her it obviously was a momentous thing to Leliana. Though, it still didn't explain why she'd demanded to come along.

"And this dream made you want to help us?"

Leliana's shoulders visibly slumped under her chantry robes, disappointed that the Maker's obvious intentions weren't clear to her new companion.

"In my dream I fell. Or… maybe I jumped? You don't understand, I'd do anything to stop the Blight, and I know that we can do it. There are so very many _good things_ in the Maker's world. How can I sit by while the Blight devours _everything_?"

Her voice was passionate as she strained her point, but Rachna had turned away. She was feeling… weird. Almost like the lightheaded feeling she got when she tried to find an end to the sky and realized there wasn't one. She tried to shake her head to dislodge the sensation, putting a hand to her forehead before looking up at Leliana.

"I suppose I wouldn't be able to just sit around either."

The admission earned a wink from the bard, who smiled brightly.

"And that is why you are a Grey Warden."

Rachna couldn't find it in her heart to correct the optimistic girl, supposing that explaining being killed or exiled for treason was only slightly less desirable than being on this fool's errand.

"Anyway, do you think you could tell me more about this Maker? And this woman Andraste? I need to understand if I'm going to be-"

_A field was burning, screams. A woman was dragging her daughter, pulling her away from the house as the first flames caught up to it. She was trying to run, her daughter crying violently. Suddenly the mother fell forward, as if she had simply tripped, but the arrow protruding from her back told another story. The little girl shrieked, ran back towards the house, which now was starting to glow with the fire gutting it. Suddenly the distance is closing in, and she can see the child fall, she is standing over her small form, hovering, so close… close enough to see the golden strands of her hair are clumping together with dirt and blood. Those hands again… they reach forward, grabbing her limp body. She is just breathing, bloodied badly. A sinister pleasure ripples through her mind as her hands raze the delicate flesh gently and-_

Her footsteps staggered before Rachna fell, coughing violently. She remembered that field. That house. It was right outside Lothering. Nausea washed over her, and she scrambled in the dirt and dust to get to the edge of the road before emptying her stomach into the tall grasses. When she finished, a warm hand came to rest on her shoulder. Her arms shook as she pushed herself up on her knees, turning to see it was Leliana offering her comfort, and apparently a canteen. She took it with a meek word of thanks and swilled her mouth before using the rest of the water to wash her face. When she'd regained composure she turned fully to see that most everyone looked concerned. Even Crush whined plaintively, unsure whether or not it would be ok to give her a supportive lick. She smiled weakly, the image of carnage still fresh in her mind, but feeling that everyone needed some sign from her. Suddenly a thought came to mind and her grin became more genuine.

"Surprisingly didn't taste much different coming up as it did going down…"

So perhaps not exceptionally witty, but with her current condition she'd forgive herself. Alistair's face went from grave concern to shock and then mock injury. Leliana simply giggled in relief while Alistair huffed and stood up.

"'Tis true, surely. It looks rather the same as well, so it wouldn't be shocking."

Morrigan chimed in before proffering what looked little more than a twig. Alistair was already threatening to burn anything he cooked ever again, and on purpose this time, if the insults kept on. So of course Morrigan simply told Rachna to chew the stick and swallow the juice before getting into a row with the ex-templar. Feeling too disorientated to argue; the dwarf sat there in the road and did as she was told. It was rather unpleasant, but after a few minutes her stomach did settle and she made a mental note to thank the witch after she was done heckling Alistair.

_A face split in two by a nasty grin filled with yellowed teeth, sharp and crusted with grime. A genlock. Then an image of a camp littered with bones and what had to be a human leg roasting over a fire; a group of three darkspawn sitting close by. The feeling of puzzlement._

Leliana must have asked her a question, because she was staring intently at her. Rachna put her hands to her face for a moment, blocking out the bright sun and taking a breather.

"Are you sure you're alright, Rach?"

"Yea, I'm good. I just need to sit for a little while."

Sten grunted, making his displeasure vocalized. Leliana shot him a look of reproach, and the dwarf wondered distantly where someone that weighed as little as Leliana found courage to scold a mountain of a man.

"We're making good time; we could take a break for awhile."

Rachna shook her head, causing a stabbing pain to jut into the base of her skull. Wincing, she tried using words instead.

"Sod it, it's not the first time I've vomited, and it won't be the last. I'll be fine, just give me five minutes."

The abrasive words seemed to bounce right off of her perpetual optimism, as she just smiled and shrugged.

_A feeling of warmth. Of being… welcomed. It brought to mind an image of Leske sharing ale with her at Tapster's. Of other Carta's she'd fought alongside, if only briefly. Camaraderie, in necessity. In sharing like goals. The sensation of slacking thirst, satiating hunger. A door left open. A question. _

She was grateful when Leliana bored of crouching there and got up to investigate something the dog was nosing. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Rachna hugged them tightly. By the Stone, what the hell was happening to her? What was in that bloody chalice that Duncan hadn't told her about? They never mentioned that doing the Joining would make you crazy. But Alistair didn't seem to have to deal with these… visions. Just the dreams, or at least that's all he told her about. She gritted her teeth, anger flaring. If Alistair hadn't told her the whole story, she was going to knock his pretty face around until he couldn't smirk.

_The feeling of being lost, of searching. An answer, it was important. The feeling of pressure, time running out. _

"WHAT DO YOU SODDING _WANT_?!"

She was sick of this! Sick of feeling violated, led on, and used. Everything kept a secret an Orge's big, fat, ass! The reason they didn't tell anyone anything is because no one would ever bloody become a Warden if they knew! Her hands ran through the pebbles and dust until she found a sizable rock and chucked it as far as she could. It still wasn't anywhere near enough of a release. Standing abruptly, she paced around, ignoring Crush's barking, as he jumped around trying to get her attention. What was he trying to say anyway, damn dog thinking he could talk. No dog should be that bloody smart. No-

The visions were talking. Like the dream of the archdemon. Rachna felt repulsed by the realization, the fact that the taint was even in her head was unnerving, though it made sense she still felt dirty somehow. Before this moment, she'd held it at an arm's length, if she kept the whole thing in perspective and away from herself she didn't have to accept it into her own body. Being exiled, becoming a Grey Warden, being tainted. It had all happened to her, not been a part of her, but now the lines were blurring. In her fevered thinking, she'd neglected to notice her companions. Alistair tried to bodily stop her from pacing, and she angrily shoved at him until he backed off. Leliana was trying consoling words, and Morrigan threats, but Rachna snarled at them both. She felt it nagging at her mind again, the _thing_, group mind, or whatever Alistair called it. This time she allowed it, slowly, and found it hurt a lot less. It was feelings, ideas, much of the same as earlier. It didn't make any sense. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. She had the distinct feeling that it, or they, or whatever the hell it was, was just as confused as her. Alistair grabbed her shoulders firmly, and this time brooked no argument when she tried to tear herself away. Even when she threatened to punch him in the face he just stared at her, hard.

_ Brother?_

"Maker's breath, Rachna! What the hell is going on?"

He was shaking her now, probably harder than he intended, but fear was making him lose control. She grasped his forearms, squeezing hard in an effort to make him understand she needed him to stop. She needed to get away from here, away from all of Ferelden, go someplace darker with less sky and no darkspawn. Mercifully the tremors stopped and his hands became supportive as she regained breath. Something, somewhere, was asking her a question. Was asking if she was, Ancestors protect her, a fellow darkspawn. If she hadn't lost everything in her stomach already this revelation would've sent her scrambling back to that bush. She must have paled visibly, since the other Warden started looking concerned about whether or not kneeling right in front of a sick woman was the best place to be. Kneeling? She glanced down to see that he was. That explained why he was suddenly eye level. It was hard to focus, the thrumming in her head overwhelming.

"I… I need to get away from here."

His golden eyes focused on her sharply and that's when Rachna recognized panic.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you! The horde is moving, can't you feel them? They're close and we need to make tracks, quickly!"

Had she known that? Yes, she supposed she had. They were searching for them, could feel them as well.

"They're curious as to what we are. If we're enemies or…"

Or brothers. Family, in a sense. Rachna felt like she could giggle, she didn't know Alistair's eyebrows could go that far up his forehead. His eyes were huge and mouth slightly agape in a silent question.

"No time, I'll explain later. We need to go."

"Why must we run? Is this not what we're here for? Let them come, I am ready."

Sten. She swiveled as much as Alistair's arms allowed to try and face the Qunari, having to settle for being able to see part of his shoulder.

"We're here to destroy them all, not a handful. Run now, fight for your bloody life later."

The giant grunted, though Rachna couldn't quite read yet what it meant. It was then that she noticed the strange silence. Where was Morrigan, or Leliana? Surely they would've spoken by now? She shot Alistair a questioning look but he simply shook his head slightly.

Not time to explain. Uh, Sten? Do you think you could… I mean, I would but my armor is heavier, uh… But we'll get you armor! Once we're at Redcliffe, but for now do you think you could… She can't walk as fast and-"

There was a very grievous sigh behind her before her feet suddenly left the ground. That in and of itself wasn't a pleasant sensation. Sten draped her over his shoulder in a very practical carrying position, though Rachna felt like a sack of potatoes. She started to protest and rather angrily at that, but neither of the males was paying her any attention as they moved as quickly as they could towards Redcliffe. Instead she had to contend with fighting back the images of what exactly the Darkspawn planned to do to them once they caught up. Suddenly she was glad Sten was carrying her, though she'd never admit it. Blissfully the humming lessened and the visions weakened after some time, and within the hour faded away altogether. The last shuddering image had been of a man, still alive, while they peeled his skin off slowly, eating it raw in chunks.


End file.
